


Dark Days

by PlaguedParadox



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Betrayal, Other, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaguedParadox/pseuds/PlaguedParadox
Summary: A nightmare made real for everyone's favourite detective. Something went wrong while on a case, now exiled Sherlock must find a way to prove his innocence and take down Moriarty once and for all.





	1. Nightmare in the Wild

Days were simple in Baker Street. The famous Consulting Detective had just finished yet another case with the help of his dear friend. These two had been through bad times and good times and there were plenty of people who would help them along the way. Their landlady despite her objections acted like a housekeeper to some but her actions were more motherly, she cared for the boys, her boys. The man who gave the consulting detective serious cases, that didn’t involve government officials, was a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard.

But I’m sure you knew all of that. Most stories containing these characters are usually full of mystery, a new threat appears and it’s up to our heroes and their team of friends to, in their own way, save the day with some romance possibly thrown into the mix. But as I said, that’s most stories. This one, in particular, is a little different. This story is one of betrayal, insanity and death, I guess there are some good moments but they are heavily outweighed. Take this as your only warning.

The Consulting Detective was yet again bored after finishing a case that hardly challenged him. He was slowly and only slightly beginning to miss the adventures his nemesis sent him on. They gave him a challenge. If he was different he would ask his brother for a case but his brother would most likely gloat to which our hero would retort with something about his brother’s weight. No one could deny that they were brothers. He looked over to his friend; his ever faithful doctor and blogger, to see him about to make some tea.

“Want any tea, Sherlock?” He called out, turning his head to the detective. Sherlock gave him a small nod before sitting down on the sofa. He looked out at the flat around him, it made him smile, he had such fond memories here, and some not so fond memories but he didn’t let them get him down. He once again looked at his friend. He was worried, his friend was spending more time with him than with his wife, he couldn’t deduce anything that would indicate a failing marriage. They were devoted to each other. Perhaps she asked him to spend more time with the detective as the man now lived alone. With that thought coming to his mind he shrugged off the worry. Yes, his friend was just spending more time with him upon the request of his wife. Hardly anything strange about that.

“Have you checked your blog yet, John? There might be some cases.” Sherlock called out to his short friend. John sighed and placed a cup of tea in front of the taller man. He shook his head in disbelief and went to grab Sherlock’s laptop as he had left his own at home. He made a quick check through his blog and did a double take at one of the requests for help.

“Um… Sherlock… You might want to have a look at this…” His tone was one laced with worry, Sherlock practically ran over to find out what was wrong, he looked towards the message that his friend was pointing at and paled.

  
_Hello, Johnny boy! I’m sure you’ll call Sherly to your side when you read this. That’s right, it’s me~ Moriarty! Back from the dead and a whole lot worse. I have a case for you. You’ll receive an email with an address. Go to it and make the truth come alive! If you get it right, I’ll see you there~ JM_

  
After a few seconds, Sherlock’s phone notified him of a new email. Just like Moriarty said. John was, to Sherlock, understandably concerned with the situation. Without a second thought, Sherlock opened the email. “Hazy Dayz Resort and Spa…? Well, this can only go well...!” John muttered to himself, looking over the taller man’s shoulder.

“It’s in the countryside… interesting… the place has been abandoned for years, they specialised in herbal remedies… closed due to an employee going on a massacre. There’s more to it if Moriarty wants us to get involved. Let’s go, John.” He made his way to the front door and quickly put on his scarf and coat. He couldn’t help but notice John smiling to himself while typing something on his phone. “John?”

“Just letting Mary know I won’t be home tonight.” He replied, to Sherlock, it fully explained why he was smiling, he was talking to the woman he loved. He then walked over, putting on his own coat. He moved his hands around his pockets to check he had everything before he followed the detective. He made sure he had his gun. He never knew what could happen.

The pair found themselves at the gates of the resort hours later. They discussed the possibilities of it being a trap, Sherlock knew the risk was high but he couldn’t back down now. He could get rid of Moriarty once and for all. One last big challenging case from his nemesis. To say he was excited was an understatement. They had found a letter taped to the gates, it was from Moriarty, he explained to them how his family used to own a portion of the resort and he wanted to clear the resort’s name to allow other members of his family to gain some money. He knew the truth but a living man’s word is far more believed than a dead man’s, let alone a criminal. If Sherlock got it right, he would show himself and let Sherlock lock him away for good. John expressed how he thought Moriarty was just going to escape afterwards but Sherlock assured him that he wasn’t going to be freed this time. And so the game was on.

He was able to figure out that another partner had taken out claims on the resort before the attack and had paid the already unstable employee to make some havoc. They weren’t expecting a massacre, just a couple of people getting hurt enough to try and get the resort handed over to them. He texted Moriarty all of this before waiting for the man to show up. He froze as he felt a gun be placed to the back of his head.

Sherlock awoke in a cold sweat, he didn’t want to remember this case. It hurt too much. He looked up at the stars above him, he swore to himself. He didn’t mean to let himself stay out at that spot for so long. He quickly observed the area and let out a sigh of relief when he deduced that no one was around or had even come near him since he started his nap. He didn’t realise he had needed to sleep so badly. He slowly made his way back to his shelter, he was so cold and hungry but he didn’t care. He just wanted the pain to stop. He felt like a lost child. He was scared and alone and he just wanted to call out for his brothers and his parents. But he stopped himself, he knew they wouldn’t come. No one would. Not while HE was there. He cursed at Moriarty, after all, it was that damnable man that turned everyone against him. Well, everyone apart from Anderson. He shivered at that. The man he barely tolerated was the only man who believed in him, it was a disturbing thought but it did give him hope, if only slightly. He just wanted to turn back time, maybe he could have done something differently. He believed it was his fault that he was in this situation. He had let his walls down and this was his punishment. He was exiled and if he was found he would be arrested.

His thoughts were slowly growing disturbed. He wanted to torture Moriarty the same way he was being tortured. Strip him of his friends and family, starve him, isolate him, force him into freezing conditions, allow nature to slowly waste him away. He would let it go on for as long as he had to endure his exile and when that time was up, if he was still alive, no matter how barely, he would cut him up and kill him slowly and when he begged for his life to end he’d leave him to bleed out, on the cold, hard floor. Seeing nothing but darkness, and even more darkness after that when he finally slipped away-

Sherlock’s eyes widened at his own maddened thoughts, that was not him. He wasn’t one to kill or torture, he had never thought of anything like that before. It was at this time he remembered that humans were social animals, and no matter how lonely he felt, he couldn’t remember a time before the exile that he was truly alone, there was always someone there, mainly his brother, that he could run to if need be. He sighed and began to repair any damages to the shelter. He knew his brain would continue the memory if he were to fall asleep again so he needed to keep himself busy, also he needed to eat.

Meanwhile in a mansion quite far away….

A mysterious man paced around in the office of a government official. He was not happy with this turnout. His brother was sure to enter the room soon and possibly freak out. But he wasn’t worried about that brother. This mysterious man? Sherrinford Holmes. The eldest of the brothers, and a man who is meant to be dead. He fixed his tie and sat down on the desk chair near him. He was definitely the more caring of the three, he blamed himself for their hatred of emotions. He didn’t think he would be gone so long… He had left as a child and now, decades later has returned. He was curious as to his youngest brother’s whereabouts and would ask Mycroft about Sherlock if he was given the chance. Sherlock was just a toddler when he left. He wondered if they remembered him. He hoped so. A banging sound caught his attention, he closed his eyes and waited. For what, he didn’t know. He knew his brother wasn’t active enough to go out of his way to hit him unless he had an umbrella with him. From his umbrella bin alone, Sherrinford could tell he liked collecting them and stole a pocket-sized one to spite his collection. He chuckled to himself before he felt a hard poke on his shoulder from someone in front of him.

“I’m not asleep, Myc. You don’t need to poke me.” He smiled to himself, cracking an eye open slightly. He had missed his brother’s attempts to wake him up. Always by poking him. The longer the item that poked the better. Mainly because when he was younger he was angry after being woken up.

“Y-you’re really here…” Mycroft stuttered in clear shock. His body language showed disbelief,

“Well, obviously! I ran away, Myc! I didn’t kill myself!” He thought his brother knew better than to believe the words of the authorities over him.

“Ran away… We were told you died! The police told us! Mother cried!” He exclaimed, more angry than upset at this point, Sherrinford didn’t blame him. He had been gone so long and made the one person who could love him unconditionally, falsely grieve because he was scared of himself.

“I faked my death so a gang didn’t kill me! I had to let the police find my ‘death scene’ for it to work! And please call her mum! That sounds so… detached… ‘mother’... ” He spat out the word, the simple taste of the word was horrible, it had no feeling behind it.

“He got it from you then…” Mycroft sighed, it was so obvious that Sherlock and Sherrinford were brothers, it just so happened that one was more open with his emotions and any form of coldness was just a mockery of his brothers’ actions.

“Pardon?” He was confused, who had gotten what from him…?

“Oh, nothing… look at newspapers from a couple of years ago…” Sherrinford made a mental note to do so, but now he had an opportunity to ask.

“I have to ask, where does our brother dear now reside? I haven’t seen him since he was a toddler…” He grinned happily, sadness was bubbling to the surface but he pushed it down. He wanted to see his baby brother once again.

“I don’t know.” He stated bluntly, causing Sherrinford to lean forward in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He asked in a low tone, Mycroft was rarely blunt unless it was something serious.

“He’s been exiled, not officially, of course, he’s being hunted by the police, attempted murder of someone who was meant to be his friend and his wife. Apparently, he was so in his own head that he had mistaken them for a man named Moriarty and one of his men.” As Mycroft explained, Sherrinford’s head creased in thought, he couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it, his brother was better than that!

“That’s not right… Sherlock wouldn’t hurt a fly!” His voice grew from a murmur into a shout. He was angry his brother was lying to him.

“Why would you think that-” He was cut off by his big brother.

“Because mummy would have told me!!!” He yelled, tears quickly rising to the surface as he began to accept the truth… He could not see his baby brother again, he was on the run and soon Sherrinford laid his arms and his head on the desk in front of him and cried himself to sleep as Mycroft slowly rubbed his empathic brother’s back. He hated seeing him like this.

“Sherrinford William Tyler Holmes… Why do you do this to yourself…?” Mycroft muttered to himself before getting a blanket for his brother. He knew he had to do something about Sherlock soon but for a while, he will just look after his big brother.


	2. A Companion in Neon

Many nights had passed the youngest Holmes by, the nightmares never ceasing, making the nights seem longer and longer which each nightmare. He was extremely aware of his surroundings, he was near a campsite, something to which he was grateful because it meant he could steal some supplies. The ragged man hoped he would find a razor so he could get rid of the beard that now bothered him endlessly, he never was one for facial hair despite several women in his past mentioning how, with the correct grooming, it would suit him. He pushed those old nagging thoughts of his teenage years back, he didn't understand why his brain wouldn't delete a good portion of those memories.

Sherlock released a quiet sigh as he sneaked his way through the bushes towards the campsite which seemed to call his name. He stopped his paces short of the break in the trees, glancing out at the recently pitched tent. It didn't take him long to work out that only a single person was out camping at this place, possibly a runaway. He hoped that they didn't watch the news in the event they did notice him, because if they did, they would likely notify the police and then he'd be thrown away in a prison, never to be seen again while his enemy walked free. The former detective looked around to try and see if the occupant of the tent was nearby. With no one in sight, he made a mad dash to the tent and began to search it as thoroughly as he could while paying attention to his surroundings. 

The tall man saw a pile of black clothes scraps of bright colours thrown in. From the size alone he could tell that the person was relatively small compared to him, possibly a preteen. He winced as he realised that he probably did come across a runaway's temporary home, a child runaway at that. Giving his beard a small scratch, he decided to make his way out of the tent, only taking a small cereal bar as the runaway was well stocked on food. They had clearly planned it out well. Sherlock sprinted back to the treeline as he heard the rustling of bushes in the distance, he wasn't paying full attention to where he was running to as he soon gave a tree a forceful hug. One which winded him and left him on the floor holding his head and groaning.

There was a sound of rushing feet before he noticed a figure had stopped by his head, staring down at him. He glanced up to see what he assumed to be the child runaway. He glanced at the preteen child, no older than 11 who glanced back down at him. The young boy had black hair but bright blue eyes which seemed to match perfectly with the neon blue trims on his top. 

The boy gulped slightly as he glanced down at the detective, his eyes shone in recognition, he knew who the man was. How could he not? He was a huge fan of the detective, he even became another detective's apprentice because of the man in front of him. "U-um... Are you okay mista?" The boy usually had more confidence than this but he was standing in front of his idol, the thought of such an event was always nerve-racking in itself. 

Sherlock nodded slowly before he moved to sit up, he shifted himself so his back was facing the tree, in case he needed to lean back. "Yes, I'm fine. What's your name...? Why did you run away?" He had a good idea as to why but he knew that in situations like these hearing the answer was a better choice than just bringing it up. This was his first human interaction in longer than he could recall, he didn't want to make the child run away from him.

The boy blinked in surprise, surely the man already could deduce his motives but he figured that the famous detective was just being polite. "U-um... My name is Tiran, weird name I know, I prefer being called Zero... um... the reason I ran away..." Zero hesitated as he felt his eyes well up with tears. He made himself sit down in front of his idol, trying to reel his emotions back in. "I... I was an apprentice to a brilliant local detective, both her and I aspired to match your work, to match your skills... but on her last case... she couldn't let me come, so my brother, Oscar, took my place... and..." The dark haired boy gave a shaky sigh as he remembered his brother and the wonderful female detective. "They left for the case and never came back... word is that they were kidnapped by the gang they were hunting down. They were my only family..." Sobs racked out of the small boy's body as he finished his story, he hadn't really let his emotions catch up with him since he ran away.  

The detective felt his own eyes well up slightly at hearing the boy's tale, understanding the feeling of losing family. He pulled the boy into a gentle hug, not knowing how else to comfort the child. He was lost for words so when Zero calmed down enough to talk, he asked him to tell about the female detective. And boy did he tell. Sherlock's imagination went wild as the boy described the cases he followed his mentor on. Sherlock imagined the blonde detective, in her light brown trench coat, a gift from Oscar and Zero, walking a brisk pace, a slight smile on her face as Zero followed quickly behind her with a grin on his face. He imagined how much advice she must have given the boy, to make him brave, to make him realise his potential. 

Sherlock wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he would have liked to of met the woman. She gave a family a shoulder to lean on and she inspired such a bright child. He may have been Zero's idol but it was clear from the way the child spoke of her that their time together as a family was the brightest part of his life. And, without discussion, Sherlock promised Zero that if there was a chance that Oscar and his mentor, Natalia, were alive then he would personally find them and bring them back to him.

Zero's face beamed as Sherlock said the promise to him. But somehow his smile grew more when Sherlock asked him if he wanted to be Sherlock's assistant for a while. The child immediately agreed to the offer, he didn't even need time to think. He was going to work with his idol who promised he'd try to find his favourite people in the whole wide world. No offer was going to sound greater to him.

Sherlock smiled as his companion in neon rushed to bring all his items into his backpack, tent included before rushing back to the now standing detective. "Let's go!" Zero beamed up at the man in front of him.

This was going to be an adventure. Sherlock thought to himself and he walked through the trees, to the edge of the small town nearby. Zero following quietly behind.


	3. New Identity

The town that bordered the woods was a relatively small town, the houses well spaced and the shops full of local supplies. Despite the size, the streets were practically buzzing with energy as the local population gathered for what seemed to be an organised tea party. Sherlock glanced around and saw a poster for a charity tea party, confirming what he thought as he saw the town. The tall man glanced back at the child that had been following him since they met. Zero kept a brave face throughout the trek to the town and was having no trouble keeping it up. 

The preteen glanced out at the bustling town, he had only been there a few times but he did know some people. And someone that owed his mentor a lot of favours. His bright blue eyes glanced up at the detective who needed to be someone else in order to survive. He was well aware that the man he stood next to was wanted. That's why Sherlock had to gain a new identity. 

Zero told the detective to stay back as he rushed down an outer path to a familiar looking building, it wasn't too difficult for him to find an open window and shimmy his way through. He was a small kid for his age so most gaps weren't really a problem, something he prided himself about when his beloved mentor needed help getting into tight gaps. The dark-haired child rushed to the man's study to find him arguing over the phone with what was most likely his boss. 

It took the adult a moment to notice the child waiting for him to finish, he quickly made an excuse to the person on the other end of the phone before hanging up. "Ah, young Tiran! How may I help you? Sorry to hear about your brother and Nat by the way." The man's Irish lilt came out as it typically did. Genuine compared to his brother's forced lilt. "I sent several officers to go and search for them but nothing came out of it." He dipped his head in shame, the man before Zero had feelings for the female detective and it was obvious that her rumoured death had greatly affected him as evident by his now long facial hair. 

"I need several forms of ID. Photo ID included as well as a falsified history!" Zero exclaimed as he walked closer to the dark-haired Irishman who's eyebrow was now raised at the demand. "It's Mr Holmes, sir! He promised to find them, he did!" Zero waved his arms around for emphasis. A small smile made its way onto the man's face and he gave a quick nod to the boy in front of him.

"Miku today, kid?" He asked as he sat down in front of his computer. He was about to breach his own brother's trust but to get Natalia and Oscar back, he'd do anything.

Twilight had soon set on the area as Zero walked back to the detective. Sherlock glanced down at the child who now had an additional bag with him. The child handed the man the bag and let him discover the contents. Sherlock examined the various forms of ID he now possessed. He glanced and checked all the information, taking it in so he wouldn't have to continuously check the cards. He looked at his new name before looking down at Zero with a raised eyebrow. 

"Benedict Cumberbatch? Really?" He asked, his baritone voice holding a small hint of humour at the odd name.

Zero nodded and gave his typical bright grin. "It was random choice really, we just looked at random things out on the street..." He explained as he nodded at the marketplace near the other end of the street that they could see. "He's a police officer who owes Nat some favours! Plus he'd always do what she asked." 

After Zero had made sure that Sherlock remembered all the necessary information he dragged him off to the local barbers, he needed to match the manipulated picture on his ID after all. His hair was going to be cut and straightened and dyed to an auburn colour. Sherlock grimaced at the small talk that filled the building, it was basically a room, like most barbers. He noticed a figure sitting in a chair, reading a magazine, a figure that looked familiar to him. An image of his damned nemesis and his team popped into his head and made him feel sick.

The process of turn Sherlock into Benedict took a while, the male had a sensitive scalp and nose so he protested quite a bit when the bleaching mixture was brought out. Though he didn't complain when his beard was taken back, only a stubble remained and he was somewhat glad his facial hair had a red hue to it so it didn't look so obvious that he wasn't auburn. 

Off-key singing filled the room making all the men inside groan as their ears felt like bleeding. The horrid sound came from a woman who burst through the doors, the woman was rather large and was clearly a baker. 'Benedict' glanced down at his assistant for an explanation only to find that Zero had run off to greet the lady. Ben watched Zero's lips and quickly understood why the boy was talking to someone who produced something so horrid. She was giving them a place to stay.

Her house was beside the bakery, which was next door to the barbers so luckily for the tired duo they didn't have to walk far. As soon as the former detective now actor was shown his room he bid the others goodnight as he collapsed on the bed. 

The now auburn man was so exhausted that he wasn't cursed with nightmares that plagued him since that day, and he was ever grateful.


	4. Getting Used to Being Benedict

Sunlight streamed across the room through a small crack in the curtains and straight into the former detective's closed eyes, waking him up from a very comfortable sleep in one of the least comfortable ways imaginable. A groan left his lips as he sat up, glaring at the window that let in the cursed light that woke him so rudely. 

The sleepy man scooted his way to the edge of the bed, and slowly placed his feet on the rug that hugged the legs of the bed. The smell of bacon frying and toast filled the air and beckoned to the man and pulled him to his feet. Food had never smelt so pleasant to Sherlock but as he glanced down at himself in his far from clean signature clothes his grimaced, he was going to be noticed in his dear Belstaff coat and his scarf. He pulled them off and placed them on a chair before walking to the on-suite that he was ever grateful for, not enjoying the idea of having to share a bathroom with a stranger or a child. 

Once he made sure he was entirely clean, and his dyed hair sat in a more tamed way than he was used to, he certainly was going to have to get used to having short hair and being without his curls but he'd do anything to beat Moriarty so a new identity it was. Sherlock made his way over to the wardrobe, he had recalled the lady that took Zero and him that she'd fill them up with clothes as they slept, apparently she was good at guessing sizes. And as the man glanced at his new set of clothes, he was able to tell that she was almost spot on, larger than he would have liked but for what was there, it wouldn't bother him. 

He went for something that was rather simple. A white t-shirt, jeans, boots and a black leather jacket and as he gazed into the mirror, looking at the stranger that it showed, he wasn't horrified with this change. It felt, surprisingly, rather natural to him. He gave a quick nod before grabbing his old coat. Sherlock was going to get it washed and then send it off to his parent's or Mycroft, hoping they'd at least keep it safe. 

The man quickly made his way to the kitchen to find Zero sitting comfortably at the table that sat to the side of the kitchen in a pair of striped pyjamas. He was busy eating pancakes that seemed to be soaked in syrup. Sherlock felt his stomach growl as he sat down on the opposite side of the table after placing his coat on the countertop nearby.

It wasn't long before a plate that had a full English breakfast fill it to the brim. He quickly said his thanks before digging in. 

Hours of useless nonsense, in Sherlock's opinion, went by before Zero suggested they check out the nearby town and try and get people to believe that Benedict was a real person. The detective was reluctant but he knew he needed to do at least something of the sort of he'd have nothing to fall back on if someone claimed he was indeed Sherlock Holmes, the fugitive detective. 

The town they went to wasn't as busy as the one they now lived in but it was larger and had far more buildings. A few people that they had walked by had stopped to ask about the man only to leave slightly embarrassed as Zero exclaimed that the man in front of him wasn't Sherlock but a man that just looked like him. Zero's voice held so much conviction that anyone would believe him, and for a moment, so did Sherlock. 

The next three hours were spent getting Sherlock used to being called Ben or Benedict, getting him to smile without it seeming forced and to get used to a higher voice even if it was only slightly. By the time that the pair made their way back to the previous town, Sherlock felt confident with his new identity. Ben felt like just another side to him that had always been there. 

When Zero and 'Ben' reached the house, Ben excused himself to his bedroom and he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands taking a familiar position underneath his chin. 

His mind palace was a wreck, he had not been there for a while so the hallways were filled with cobwebs and furniture was overturned. A creek in some floorboards grabbed his attention, his feet slowly made their way to where the sound had originated to see a figure with auburn hair in the distance. 

"What happened here?" A lighter and warmer version of his voice sounded out as the figure took in their surroundings. Sherlock took in the man's appearance, they looked pretty similar however the man in front of him had more wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, even if it was a slight difference it was clear the man had smiled more in his life than Sherlock did. And he looked healthier. The man turned to face Sherlock, his blue eyes widening as he took the detective in. "Um, hello there, I'm Benedict. You must be Sherlock." Ben greeted, his eyes holding concern while his voice stayed steady.

'Well this is not good..' Sherlock thought, the situation leaving the man speechless.


End file.
